‘You were excellent, Gervase,’ said Mrs C-C as she sailed past. ‘I think you’re in for a much bigger role in the next production.’
‘See what I mean,’ said the caretaker, tapping the side of his nose.
‘How did it go?’ asked Christine when I limped through the door of Peewit Cottage later that evening.
‘Fine. I only need to attend a couple more times and the dress rehearsal, of course. I told you it wouldn’t involve much.’ I flopped into the nearest chair.
‘I don’t understand why they were so desperate for you to do this part if it’s such a small one. Couldn’t the producer or somebody have done it?’
‘If you had met the producer, Christine,’ I told her, ‘you would see why he would be the last person to play the part of a nasty SS officer.’
‘Too nice?’
‘Far too nice.’
‘I’ll put the kettle on,’ Christine said. ‘I’m sure you could do with a cup of tea after all that goose-stepping. You can have a piece of cake as well.’
‘Oh, you’ve been baking?’
Christine called from the kitchen. ‘No, Mrs Poskitt called round with it. You should try a piece of her sponge cake. It’s delicious – “as light as a nun’s kiss” as my father would say.’
‘That depends on the nun,’ I muttered to myself, thinking of Mrs Cleaver-Canning. ‘What did Mrs Poskitt want? I hope it wasn’t to give us one of her kittens.’
‘She’s invited me to the next WI meeting.’
‘You are not thinking of joining the Women’s Institute, are you?’
‘Why not? It sounds good fun. When I give up work, I don’t intend sitting around all day by myself, knitting, with no one to talk to. I know I’ve got the garden at the front to sort out and some decorating and I need to put up some shelves in the nursery and –’
‘Not in your condition, you’re not,’ I told her. ‘Digging and hammering and climbing up ladders –’
‘I’m joking,’ she said. ‘But I do want to keep occupied.’
‘I should think that school closure group you’re involved with will take up most of your time.’
‘Aah, that is where you are wrong,’ she said. ‘You’ve had a phone call.’
‘Go on.’
‘From Harold. He had just come out of one of his late meetings about the school closures and he rang here straightaway. He wanted us to be the first to know. He said he would ring you back. I don’t suppose he should have told me, but he was so pleased with himself.’
‘Well, go on,’ I said. ‘Don’t keep it to yourself.’
‘The meeting was for the Education Sub-Committee to consider the response from the Ministry of Education about the school closures. You will never guess. They’ve reversed the decision to close Hawskrill School.’
‘What?’
‘Isn’t it fantastic! Evidently the Ministry, which has to make the final decision, has blocked it. It’s marvellous news.’ She put her arms around me. ‘So you see, all our little efforts on the Action Committee have paid off. I’ll get the tea.’
I didn’t say anything to Christine, but I thought to myself that there was far more here than a pressure group’s efforts. I just wondered if our Senior Inspector designate had a hand in the decision. Miss de la Mare had been the HMI sent from London to look into the matter and report back. Did she delay her acceptance of the post until she had seen this through? I wondered.
Christine interrupted my thoughts. ‘He said he’d phone back about ten.’
‘Who?’
‘Harold.’ At that very moment the telephone rang ‘That’ll be him now.’
‘Hello, Harold –’ I began.
‘Beg pardon?’ came an American voice down the line.
‘Oh, I am sorry,’ I said. ‘I was expecting another call.’
‘Is this an inconvenient time?’
‘No no, go ahead.’
‘Is that Mr Gervase Phinn?’
‘It is.’
‘The owner of Peewit Cottage?’
‘That’s right.’
‘I’m truly sorry to disturb you so late, Mr Phinn,’ said the man, ‘but your lady secretary at the office in Fettlesham did say I might phone you at home, bearing in mind the nature of my business. I do hope it’s not inconvenient.’
‘No, it’s fine,’ I told him.
‘You’re a seriously busy guy, from what your secretary said. Let me introduce myself. My name is Brewster – John K. Brewster – and I’m with the US delegation of The Society of Friends.’
‘Quakers?’
‘That is correct. I and a group of colleagues are over for the International Convention at York. I wanted to get in touch straight away, to tell you the good news –’
‘I’m sorry, Mr er, Brewster,’ I interrupted, ‘but I am pretty certain in my own beliefs and –’
‘No, no, I’m not proselytising.’
‘Well, how may I help you?’ I asked.
‘The thing is,’ he said, ‘my colleague, Dr James L. Bradford of the University of Irvine, California, Department of Comparative Theology and Christology, came out to your village of Hawskrill a couple of years back to visit the Quaker meeting house which I understand is on your land.’
My heart sank. ‘The meeting house?’ I murmured.
‘That is correct, the unique eighteenth-century meeting house which is on your land. Just a shell, I believe, but of such great historical significance, particularly for we Quakers. James Fox himself preached there, but I am sure you know that. I understand the delightful old lady who owned the land prior to you was so very kind and allowed my colleague, Dr James L. Bradford, and some friends to visit the site. I am told it was quite a moving event. The elderly lady did not have the financial resources to restore the building but it always had a special place in her heart, as I’m sure it does for you. To have something so steeped in history is truly, truly awe-inspiring. When he returned to the States, Dr James L. Bradford was quite fired up and suggested we try to restore the building.’
‘Restore it?’ I whispered.
‘Re-build it. Now, I want to make a proposition. We are prepared, my American Quaker colleagues and I, to restore the vitally important and unique meeting house to its former glory. We shall cover all costs. Now, what do you think of that, sir?’
I was stuck for words. How could I tell him the vitally important and unique eighteenth-century Quaker meeting house was now a lowly wall. ‘I’m speechless,’ I managed to say.
‘I guess this news must have come as quite a surprise to you?’
‘That’s an understatement,’ I replied under my breath.
‘Look, it’s late and I can tell from the sound of your voice, you’re tired and a bit emotional. With your permission, I’ll ring back later in the week and maybe arrange for me and my colleagues to come over next weekend to discuss the rebuilding plans. I have an appointment with a Mr J. Perkins of the County Architects’ Department in Fettlesham tomorrow morning. I understand there’s all sorts of planning permission, listed building regulations, that sort of thing to sort out. I’m so excited,’ he said, ‘and I guess you are too! God bless you, and goodnight.’ Before I could reply, the phone went dead.
‘I need a whisky, a very large one,’ I told a bemused Christine.
22
Mrs Savage sat stiffly behind her impressive desk, enthroned in her large swivel chair, looking haughtier than ever. This was, I sincerely hoped, the final meeting with her to go over the details for the forthcoming visit of the foreign school inspectors.
Since October I had met with her twice to discuss the Ministry of Education initiative and both times she had sent me away with a thick dossier of papers ‘to peruse’.
The CEO’s personal assistant was dressed in an elegant chartreuse-coloured suit and plain cream silk blouse and was adorned in her usual assortment of heavy silver jewellery. As Sidney often remarked, Mrs Savage was never knowingly underdressed and that morning she had really gone to town
. Her make-up appeared flawless, her long nails, as red as blood, were impeccably manicured and not a hair on her head was out of place. She had adopted the Eva Peron style, with hair scraped back and gathered immaculately behind her head. I had to admit she looked quite magnificent.
‘Good morning, Mr Phinn,’ said Mrs Savage, looking up from the papers before her and giving me a small forced smile. ‘Do take a seat.’
‘Good morning, Mrs Savage,’ I replied, sitting on the hard wooden chair in front of her and placing my briefcase on the floor beside me. ‘I see your buzzer is working all right now.’
‘I beg your pardon?’ There was an explosive look in her eyes.
‘The buzzer on your door. There was a point when all your little lights lit up.’
The small forced smile disappeared. ‘It is working perfectly well, thank you, and it has been for some time. You might recall you asked me about the buzzer the last time we had a meeting in my room. Now, shall we make a start? I have a briefing with Dr Gore later this morning, so we do need to knock on. The CEO wants to touch base and go through a few items with me regarding the new Senior Inspector.’ She fluttered an eyelid. I knew, of course, that it wouldn’t be long before she mentioned the Senior Inspector’s post. ‘You are, of course, acquainted with Miss de la Mare.’
‘Yes,’ I replied simply.
‘It’s about time they had more women in senior positions in the Authority,’ she observed, shuffling the papers on her desk.
‘Yes.’
‘I have to prepare a detailed dossier for Miss de la Mare to acquaint her with the workings of the department.’
‘You have such a big remit, Mrs Savage,’ I remarked, taking some papers from my briefcase.
‘I beg your pardon, Mr Phinn?’ she said sourly.
‘I was observing that you seem to have more and more responsibilities thrust upon your shoulders these days. Personnel issues, secretarial duties, the “Health and Safety” initiative, the EIEI. It’s a wonder you have the time to fit everything in.’
‘Oh,’ she said, oblivious of the sarcasm, ‘I see what you mean. Yes, I am indeed kept extremely busy and that is why we need to expedite the business of the EIEI.’
‘So, shall we do that?’ I suggested.
She flicked open a file on her desk and tapped a red nail at the document inside. ‘I have received from you the names of some suitable schools for the foreign inspectors to visit but these need to be ratified, of course, by Dr Gore. He would, I’m sure, only want them to visit our flagship schools. The inspectors will, no doubt, wish to observe some lessons and talk with teachers to compare our system of education with that in their own country. I am told that they speak very good English.’
‘Yes, I know that, Mrs Savage,’ I told her wearily, ‘and all has been prepared. If you remember, we went through what they would be doing when we met at the SDC early last term, the morning you were mistaken for Mr Clamp’s nude model.’
Her mouth tightened. ‘The least said about that the better, Mr Phinn,’ she said. Her voice was hard and clipped. ‘I did have a word with Dr Gore about that whole incident. I imagine he spoke to Mr Clamp.’
‘Not to my knowledge,’ I informed her.
‘And I also contacted Personnel about the janitor taking time off to holiday in France without seeking the required permission.’
‘Yes, you said you would,’ I replied. ‘Actually, Mrs Savage, Connie went to scatter her father’s ashes. I believe Dr Gore very kindly wrote to her expressing his condolences. Connie was considering resigning after receiving a rather unpleasant letter from Personnel containing a written warning, but Dr Gore persuaded her to stay on.’
‘I do not recall seeing any letter from Dr Gore and I deal with all his correspondence.’
‘Being a letter of condolence and therefore personal, I expect it was hand-written,’ I said. ‘Now since, as you have pointed out, we need to expedite the business of the EIEI, Mrs Savage, shall we do that? The schools have been identified, the arrangements made, the visits organised, which leaves little to be dealt with.’
‘It does no harm to recap, Mr Phinn,’ she said in a patronising voice. ‘Then we don’t get crossed wires. Dr Gore wishes you to set up a meeting at the SDC with invited headteachers and governors to talk about the education system over here. He, of course, will address them. If I might suggest –’
‘That, too, has all been taken care of, Mrs Savage,’ I assured her in a deliberately impatient tone of voice.
She was rather taken aback. ‘Really?’
‘Yes, I’ve arranged all that as well.’
‘Oh, then we can move on.’
‘If we might.’
‘Now, if two of your colleagues and yourself,’ she suggested, ‘accompany one of these foreign inspectors each for the two days and look after him or her, it would mean that they would see a range of different subjects in a variety of schools.’
‘I have taken care of that, too, Mrs Savage,’ I told her, gritting my teeth. ‘Mr Clamp and Mr Pritchard are only too happy to be involved.’
There was a long silence before she said, ‘I take it, then, that Dr Yeats and Dr Mullarkey are not available?’ Her voice was laconic.
‘I don’t know whether Dr Yeats and Dr Mullarkey are available or not,’ I told her, my voice again taking on an exasperated edge. ‘I didn’t ask them.’ Actually I had had a word with Geraldine but she was extremely busy running a course at that time as well as attending appointment panels during the week of the visit. Harold, too, had said he had far too much on. After the change of heart with regard to the closure of the small schools, a series of meetings had been arranged to see where else money could be saved from the education budget. Harold, of course, was required to attend. ‘I have spoken with both Mr Clamp and Mr Pritchard and explained what will be required, and they would be very pleased to take part in the initiative.’
‘Do you think that those two colleagues are the most suitable for this endeavour?’ Mrs Savage asked.
‘Eminently.’
‘I see,’ she said curtly, after another long pause. ‘Well that, of course, is your decision.’
‘Yes, it is,’ I agreed.
‘But it is imperative, Mr Phinn,’ she announced, snapping shut the file in front of her and giving me an icy glare, ‘that you liaise with me at all times. I need to be kept fully informed.’
‘Of course,’ I replied, wishing that this totally unnecessary meeting would end. ‘Surely that is the point of this meeting?’
‘It makes my life so much easier if I am kept fully up to speed,’ she continued. ‘I will, of course, deal with all the administration, send the foreign inspectors the relevant documentation, arrange their travel, send them a detailed itinerary and programme of events and so forth, but there is one thing I would like you to do as a matter of some urgency. I would appreciate it if you could have a word, sooner rather than later, with that janitor at the Staff Development Centre – that woman in the pink overall.’
‘Connie,’ I reminded her.
‘I have to say that I find her quite abrasive and difficult. Sometimes I don’t think she knows who I am and what position I hold at County Hall. She has a most offhand manner. You will recall that when we held the interviews for the Senior Inspector’s post, when that Mr Carter, he who gave back-word, was appointed, the woman was most rude, very unhelpful and quite obstructive. I merely asked her for more tea and biscuits and one would have thought that I had asked her to lay down her life.’
‘So what’s this matter of some urgency that you wish me to deal with?’ I asked irritably.
‘The matter of the catering,’ she replied.
‘The catering?’ I asked.
‘As we agreed, there will be a reception for our foreign visitors at the SDC. There will be nibbles and drinks, that sort of thing.’ She cleared her throat. ‘I can see problems with… with that woman.’
‘Connie?’
‘Yes. If she is unable to provide tea and
biscuits, how will she cope with a buffet? I really do not feel inclined to liaise with her over the provision of the food and drink. As I said, she can be very difficult.’
That’s ripe coming from her, I thought.
‘Well, this really is part of your remit,’ I said.
‘Not necessarily,’ she replied. There was a softer tone to her voice now. ‘You spend far more time at the SDC. It occurred to me that you might like to deal with that side of things.’
I was beginning to enjoy this. ‘No, not really,’ I replied. ‘I have quite enough on. I think the catering is best dealt with by you.’
‘Mr Phinn, do you want our European colleagues to return to their respective countries with an unfavourable impression of English hospitality?’
‘Of course not,’ I replied, stuffing the papers back in my briefcase and getting to my feet. ‘Well, Mrs Savage, everything seems to have been dealt with. I will let you get to your briefing with Dr Gore and compile your detailed dossier. I’ll give you a ring next week to check on final details before the foreign inspectors’ visit.’
Mrs Savage twisted a ring around on her long finger. ‘Mr Phinn,’ she said, ‘I would be very grateful if you could see fit to arrange the catering. I would find it very helpful.’ There was another long pause, then, ‘Please.’
‘I don’t recall your being particularly helpful, Mrs Savage,’ I told her, ‘when I wanted that report back. In fact you were most unhelpful.’
‘That was an entirely different matter,’ she told me. ‘It was –’
‘More than your job was worth? Yes, I recall you telling me.’ I then added, ‘Very well, Mrs Savage, I will arrange the catering.’
‘Thank you,’ she said simply.
On my way out of County Hall, I kept a sharp eye open for a party of American Quakers heading for the County Architects’ Department.
‘I’m sorry, Sidney, but it is a well-known fact that other Europeans speak their own language much better than the English speak theirs.’ David was in one of his more serious moods and was holding forth about the visit of the foreign inspectors. ‘And furthermore, they are far more likely to speak English than we are to speak their language. These three inspectors coming here, for example, are all apparently fluent in English. How many of us are fluent in Italian or Spanish or French? You see, they make the effort and the English do not. Indeed, the Englishman abroad expects the foreigners to speak English. If no one understands him, he then goes up an octave and starts shouting. And, I would go further than that. The foreigner very often has a better command of the English language than the English have themselves.’
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